The Chaperone
by Dragonheart51
Summary: A young man is thrust out of his home in Boston into the cutthroat world of the Terran Confederacy. Does he become a freedom fighter? A warrior of the Confederacy? Actually, he becomes a babysitter. For the Old Families. Get ready for hijinks and hilarity as a part-time baby sitter changes history. For one man can often make all the difference.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1.**

 **Not in Boston anymore**

The city of Tarsonis was many things. It was the city so nice they named it twice. It was the capital and first city of the Confederacy of Man and home of the Old Families, the proud armigerous children of the commanders for the prime super carrier. It was the center of government for almost the entirety of the Koprulu Sector. With it's majestic inner city of New Gettysburg, the grand main highway rolling down to the Confederate Council Building and Nagglfar Hall, the Presidential Offices; Tarsonis was truly a marvel of human civilization, engineering and achievement. Everyone who's anyone knows what Tarsonis is. Well, all except for one.

Tommy James Dupont (no relation to DuPont family) awoke the sound of shifting earth and the sensation of loam falling on his chest. He felt no small amount of confusion, what had happened to his cryo-tube and how long had he been frozen for? He knew for certain that he was only going to be frozen until the medical technology to heal the wounds sustained in the car crash was made available to the hospital he was interred in. But then Tommy's eyes started to sting. He had seen enough movies and stayed awake in biology class long enough to know that the only reason a person's eyes hurt, is if you haven't used them ever, or for a long time.

Slowly the pain in his eyes dulled and he pulled himself upwards and out of the tube, every joint in his body crackling and popping as each muscle was pulled and every bone was stressed. As the blinding light of the sun sluggishly receded, Tommy had a look at himself. He was well preserved from the cold storage, and his cloths had been equally well retained, but they were beginning to rapidly age from exposure to air. He felt a crippling pain in his stomach strike him, making Tommy fall to his knees and he explosively vomited bile, staining the churned brown soil an unhealthy looking yellow. His body having purged itself, Tommy stood up on unsteady legs and looked around. Immediately he could see that he was not in the hospital, or anywhere in Boston for that matter.

"I don't think we are in Kansas anymore Toto." Tommy whispered to himself as he took in his surroundings. He was standing in the center of a previously immaculately manicured garden, the upheaval of earth showing Tommy his place of egress from the cold storage tube, which was buried rather close to the surface. Directly in front of him was a large mansion, with a building style reminiscent of Arts Décoratifs with an emphasis on classicism such as to give the place the feeling of a Roman villa or palace. Hedges and shrubs often taller than a man ran the borders of the spacious estate and he could hear from the sound of traffic and the din of crowds that the demesne was in a city and a very large one at that. The entire place had an atmosphere which radiated 'old money', something Tommy knew very much about, having grown up around the wealthy families of Boston.

Tommy Dupont edged further from the burial site and towards the mansion, beginning to feel the chill of the remaining icy film over his body thawing. But upon his movement, an alarm began blaring suddenly and without warning. After recovering from the initial shock of the sudden noise, Tommy looked up and saw the reason for the alarm; in the far left corner, concealed by a large marble column, was a security camera built by no company that he knew of. Small enough to not easily be seen, but large enough and with a wide enough field of view that it could easily survey the entire yard, and there was another one similar to it on the right. Tommy however was more focused on the danger to himself. He was clearly on private property, and it was just as clear that whoever owned the lot was very concerned with the comings and goings of people who came to call. And Tommy was obviously not invited.

Then from his right, a tall man wearing a policeman's uniform ran out from the side of the mansion. "Hold it right there boy!" he shouted in a drawling dialect of english reminiscent of the tabor of the southern United States. The officer stopped, pulling some form of handgun and aimed it at Tommy. Dupont immediately threw up his hands and made sure to keep them visible so as not to give the officer any cause for suspicion. The man edged closer to Tommy, close enough to allow him to read the officer's badge, "Michaels, Rodger B." it read. The more he was awake, the colder he became. So cold was he that despite the fact that the temperature was near 85 degrees, he was shivering. Slowly, he drew his hands down, and pulled them around his waist.

"Keep those hands up son!" the officer said, now that he was close enough to Dupont. Tommy obliged him, but bent down to protect himself. In his fear addled state, Tommy Dupont was not a sixteen year old young man, but a frightened child, alone, cold and scared. As the officer got a good look at him, his eyes softened. This was a young boy, probably from The Gutter, he didn't know how things worked, it could be excused once. Slowly he lowered his pistol, and drew closer to Tommy. "Listen son. You're gonna need to come down to the station with me. You might not be intending to, but you're still trespassing on private property, Old Family property on top of that, and that's a special kind a trouble you're getting yourself into that you really don't want to be in." Seeing Tommy's fearful look, Michaels added, "You'll be treated decently there." in an assuaging tone of voice.

"Sir; I-I'm cold, and wet. And now I don't even know w-where the h-hell I am. What ever you w-want me to d-do, I-I'll do it, just don't hurt me please." The officer nodded and walked Tommy out of the estate and to a police cruiser. Michaels eased Tommy into the back seat and drove onto the on-ramp and the freeway. Finally Tommy had a chance to see where exactly he was and he was utterly mystified at what he saw. A metropolis even bigger than New York City with a central motorway stretching down a north-south axis, with overpasses and off-ramps dispersed every five kilometers along with skyscrapers and towers as tall as the Empire State Building along either side of the way. Flying over many buildings was a flag strikingly similar to the battle flag of the the confederate Army of Tennessee.

Noticing his amazed expression, Officer Michaels smiled slightly and said: "First time seein' New Gettysburg? Livin' in The Gutter doesn't afford the best view I know." He didn't expect Tommy to turn to him with an expression of unabashed and unknowing curiosity. "New Gettysburg? I'm sorry but I've never heard about a city with that name." At Michaels' shocked expression, he hastily queried, "Should I have?" Officer Michaels wondered at the boy sitting behind him and considered who the boy might be.

"Son you must live under a rock if you've never heard of New Gettysburg. It's the main district of Tarsonis, have you at heard of that?" When Tommy shook his head, Michaels' feeling of confusion was only intensified. "Do you at least know what the Koprulu Sector is?" Tommy shook his head again, feeling increasingly like an idiot. Rodger Michaels shook his head and returned his eyes to the road. "Well boy, you've either got amnesia, or your the least educated child in the entire damn Confederacy. You probably don't know what that is either." An increasingly familiar shake of the head proved him correct in that assumption. "Do you have any idea of what year or day it is?!" he asked.

"The last time I was awake, it was January 10th, 2017. I was supposed to remain in cold storage until they had the equipment to heal me from the car crash, and that was supposed to arrive in August." The officer's eyes widened, and he turned around with an expression of utter incredulity written on his face.

"Listen Mr…" He began, but faltered, not knowing Tommy's name.

"Dupont. Tommy Dupont." he supplied to the confused officer. "Well Tommy, I don't know how to tell you this, but today is July 7th, 2489. I should've known somethin' was off the second I saw that old cryo tube." Tommy's face paled and his eyes widened.

"You've got to be kidding me right?" He gave a nervous chuckle. "There's no way that I could have been frozen for over 400 years. Right? I mean, how could I have survived? I mean sure, I'm starving like crazy and my eyes were stinging, but that could just be the standard side effects of a few months in the tube!" He was talking so fast by this point that Michaels had a hard time catching what he said.

"Tommy, Tommy!" Michaels finally shouted, breaking the young man out of his frightened rant. "I know you've had a lot on your plate, but things'll probably be cleared up once we get to the station. There'll be a few legal troubles to be cleaned up and red tape to be handled, but you'll be alright." Normally, Michaels was not very kind to young vagrants, but this one looked surprisingly like his oldest son and his heart was warmed. So he gave the boy a few minutes to calm down and watch the city as the car sped down the main thoroughfare towards the Police Precinct Headquarters.

The headquarters turned out to be a large, brutalist style building with a large Confederate jack flying from the top flagpole. The entire thing seemed to exude authority and it did not help Tommy's mood as the cruiser drew closer to the ominous structure, which seemed all the more dangerous thanks to Tommy's fearful mind. The registration was a blur to Tommy, as he was booked, fingerprinted and had his mugshot taken. All this took little more than half an hour. Then, Tommy was taken down to an interrogation room, measuring eighty feet square. In front of him sat a man in a suit, with a trench coat draped over the back of his chair. He appeared to be in his mid forties, but his hair was whitening at the roots. He was square jawed and his eyes were hard and grey. His overall cast of countenance was befitting of a hardened crime fighter. An _honest_ crime fighter moreover.

"Afternoon young man, I'm Detective Richmond." he said, his voice gravelly and tough. "Well you'll be happy to know that you're officially in the Tarsonis Police Department's Rouges Gallery. We've put together a profile and I want to see if it's accurate by checking it down in front of you." He pulled out a sheet of paper and read it aloud.

"Name: Thomas "Tommy" James Dupont.

Height: 185 cm.

Weight: 153 pounds.

Eye color: Green.

Ethnicity: Caucasian.

Hair color: Sandy brown.

Biological age: 16.

Chronological age: 489."

The Detective looked up at Tommy and asked: "Is that accurate enough?" Tommy nodded and the man continued. "Now from what I understand, you are charged with trespassing and vandalizing the property of the Calabas family, but you've got some rather extenuatin' circumstances in your present predicament. Now also from what I understand, you've got no knowledge of Confederate law, so I'm gonna inform you that trespassing is punishable by one year in jail, or by a thousand credit fine. And let met tell you that Confederate prisons are not at all pleasant places to be."

"Well sir, jails weren't a picnic even back when I was from. But I can see your point." Quickly, now that he was warmer, Tommy's analytic mind began to work at assessing the situation. "I don't particularly want to serve any prison time, but I don't have any money with me, and if my family's still around, I highly doubt any money they have would be accessible to me. Especially since we are on a planet thats… How far away from Earth are we?" He asked.

"About 60,000 light years, give or take." came the response, Tommy's response was to introduce his hand to his forehead. With a tone filled with cold acceptance, Tommy said: "Perfect. I have no home, no family, no certifiable education to get any sort of job and no way to pay for the crime for which wasn't even conscious when someone decided to commit it for me!" He looked at the detective frustratedly, "What can I do? What can I do to get out of this mess? I either have to pay the fine or serve the sentence, and I obviously can't pay the fine. So what are my options?" He asked the detective, who by this point seemed slightly amused by the boy's unintentional straight man routine.

"Son, I'm frankly going to have to say that at this point, it'd be best if you served the-" Detective Richmond was interrupted by a uniformed policeman walking in. The officer in question bent down and whispered something in the detective's ear low enough that Tommy was not able to hear anything. But whatever it was, it was certainly of an important nature as the Detective's eyes first narrowed, then widened, and he whispered something back in an argumentative tone of voice. His face finally took on a grim expression and he looked at Tommy.

"Tommy, it looks like you won't be needing to consider anything for the moment. I've been made aware that there are some people that have a great bearing on how this issue goes for you." Tommy asked what kind of people that meant were in town and the Detective answered back: "The kind of people who aren't often in as generous a mood as this, so be extremely grateful that they're here at all." A few minutes later, the door to the cell opened with a buzz and in walked three people, two men and a woman. The first was tall, broad shouldered with a set of muttonchops and an odd looking suit. The second was a wiry pale man in a three piece suit and carrying a briefcase. The woman was dark haired and of an apparently hispanic cast of countenance.

"Tommy, this is Arturro and Lita Calabas. The man to the right, that's their attorney, Mr. Langford." Richmond clearly disliked the situation he was in and also the fact that the Old Families were meddling in police business. Again. "From what Officer Craven told me, they have an offer for you." Mr. Calabas nodded and began speaking.

"That is indeed correct. From what I hear, you are in a rather odd predicament young man. You have, despite circumstances beyond your control, caused a fair bit of damage to our property and have been caught trespassing." Tommy was about to speak his mind about this treatment, but Richmond grabbed his arm and gave him a look that said, 'Shut up and let him speak.' so Tommy stayed quiet for the moment, but he had questions and would not wait for much longer. And he would have his answers, sooner than even he expected.

"Despite the damage you have caused, my wife and I have talked, and we have come up with a proposition for you. Almost a job opportunity if you were being nonchalant about it." Mr. Calabas said, in the same drawling voice so typical to everyone on the planet, and if it was to be believed, the whole sector.

Tommy asked: "What kind of opportunity?"

Mr. Calabas smiled slightly and said: "We are offering you a way of paying off the fine, and a way to give yourself a stable income to provide for yourself for the foreseeable future. We shall provide you with a small apartment and a monthly salary until you can find some other occupation." Tommy was, at this point, feeling like he was making a deal with the devil. And perhaps he was, but afterward he would be glad that he agreed.

"Essentially an indentured servant then?" Mr. Calabas smiled patronizingly and said: "Nothing so simple as that. Think of it as having a summer job almost. We'll pay you for the work you do, and indeed we're being more generous than normal."

But Tommy was less than enthused. "You said that you had an opportunity for me to pay off this debt, so what's the job?" The Calabas patriarch smiled again and said: "A man who gets to the point, brusque but calm. You could use some refinin' but very well. We have need of you to watch our oldest son, Morgan." Out of all the kinds of jobs he could have been offered, this was not one Tommy had been expecting.

"You must be kidding. You want me to babysit your kid?! Why me, I get that you can use me for free essentially, but why me of all people?" Detective Richmond leaned in towards him and whispered: "Being a child of the Old Families has a lot of dangers to it son. The Families have pissed off more than a few people over the years, and besides they're the biggest targets for extortion there is. And one way to get at them is through their children. Hold'em ransom, but they often have accomplices on the inside. Disgruntled guards, housekeepers, anyone who's offered sufficient cash."

"Exactly," said Mr. Calabas. "Now you see the problem we are faced with. We need someone to watch our children, but there's no one that can be trusted. But now you've come along. And you need us to get you out of this trouble you're in. You need us in a way that no one else does. You can be trusted in a way no one else can be. You can be depended upon to keep our children safe. So young man," He motioned to Tommy, "it's decision time. You can work for us and escape this pickle with your future assured, or you can serve time in jail. So what do ya say?" He offered his hand to Tommy.

For Tommy though, while the choice was obvious, he still felt that he was letting himself in for a great deal of trouble. Far more than he would have ever thought possible. He took the proffered hand and shook it. "So where do I sign?" he asked in a defeated tone of voice. The lawyer, Mr. Langford opened the briefcase and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen, then he put it down in front of Tommy.

"Right here."

* * *

Disclaimer: StarCraft and all characters of StarCraft are property of Blizzard Entertainment. My original character however does belong to me.

Author's Note: Hello! This is my first story, so I am understandably new to this group. I take criticism of any kind, constructive or otherwise, and if you have any helpful pointers, I will take them into consideration.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **The royal brat**

Tommy woke up on the small bunk in his cell, mind racing. _"Where am I? How did I get here?!"_ he thought. Then he remembered everything. Everything that had happened in the previous day. Being frozen for almost half a millennia, being arrested, being offered a job that while seemingly innocuous, offered only trouble in his eyes. Now today, he was going to be released, a member of the Calabas' staff would be by to pick him up at eleven. And that was another thing. Tarsonis had a 27 hour day instead of the normal 24 hours, that meant mid day was at 1:30. Tommy still hadn't adjusted to the difference in planetary rotations and as such was awake at 8:00 am, giving him enough time to have a small amount of gruel from the jail canteen, whence the inmates were let out of their confines.

The Tarsonis Police Headquarters was large enough that it could contain it's own jail to house those overnighters who were picked up on loitering or driving while drunk, or some of the worst. That is to say, those who had ruffled the feathers of the wrong people, or had simply been unlucky enough to by arrested for stealing to feed their family. The real murderers often got away scot-free, as they could grease the palms of the right people. The food was cold and tasteless, unfortunate, but Tommy contented himself with the knowledge that in a few hours that he'd be free. Or as free as he could be under the circumstances. So he sat himself down at one of the tables, circular in shape, and seating three more people. All much older than him. One looked at him and asked: "So what're you here for boy?" He said.

"I'm here because I was booked here and it was cheaper to let me bunk in this hole for the night." Tommy said as he dug into his meagre breakfast. "I'm going to be released today. That is if Calabas doesn't decide it's cheaper to simply keep me here." Suddenly, the whole table and several nearby fell silent. Tommy felt several sets of eyes upon him, mostly with incredulous disbelief in them.

"Are you pulling my leg son? Why in the hell would one of the Old Families bail you out of jail?! They sure as hell ain't generous, else we would all be out of this place with a job and a house. So what have you done for them? You cant've killed anyone for them, cause I'd know about it." said one of them. And most of the other inmates were crowding around Tommy, their eyes alight with curiosity.

"No, no. Nothing like that. But you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you." That however simply egged the other inmates on to pressure Tommy for details as to what happened to get him imprisoned and released only a day later. So he recounted the story of how he was frozen for over four hundred years after he was hit by a semi truck, then awoken in the garden of the Calabas family, was brought in, and offered the deal by Mr. Calabas to work as a servant of the family. As he finished his tale he saw that most of the inmates looked utterly unconvinced by his story.

"You're right, I don't believe it." said one of his more suspicious listeners. "You're asking us to believe that you're getting busted out today, by one of the most important people in the Confederacy, and all for some kid?!" it was indeed rather hard to believe. Tommy himself was the first to tell the others that. But that was the situation as he understood it. And that was the end of it, there was nothing other to discuss, the others quieted down after the discussion. Everything had been said and most of the people there were quite certain that Tommy was simply off his rocker.

Tommy ate his meal quickly and silently, after chow was served he returned to his holding cell. Quickly enough the eleventh hour came, and Tommy heard a banging on his cell door. He looked up to see a man in a suit and chauffeur's cap next to one of the guards. "Dupont! Your ride's here." the guard shouted. It was clear that just like Tommy, he wanted the whole thing over and done with as quickly as possible, and get back to his usual routine of knocking down cell doors and bulling around inmates.

The moment Tommy was released, he was escorted to the black sedan that was his transportation to the manor. Taking care to avoid drawing attention to himself, he quickly jumped in the back and closed the door. The chauffeur was an unsmiling and cold character of a pale color, and despite the fact that he was very slim, Tommy could tell that he did not have anything remotely approaching any off duty habits. "This first day is going to revolve around you learning about the family, meeting your charge and any means you might require to defend yourself should any burglars, kidnappers or other criminals attempt to break into the house." the man said. Once again, there was that thick southern drawl so prevalent in the area. It was rather annoying to Tommy, being a New Englander he would have preferred that the future he was in had people with a Boston accent at least.

Eventually, the car was brought through the traffic, and it arrived at the Calabas mansion. Now that Tommy was coming in rather than going out, he was surprised by the surplus of protective measures. Guards in body armor, and carrying large rifles stood at the entrance gate, which looked as if it would be more suitable at a military installation, were it not for the considerable ornamentation upon the structure. The car pulled through the gate after a quiet conversation with the guard, and Tommy saw for the first time, how magnificent was the house that his employer lived in. _"Calabas means to have me watching a child in this place?! Even if it were just one, he'd get away from me, do something we'd both regret, and I'd be back in jail!"_ Tommy thought as the car pulled up to the veranda.

As the front door was opened, Tommy had a chance to observe the house of his employer, and the interior was as grand as the exterior. Porcelain vases containing exotic looking plants, works of art by various painters and ornamental rugs decorated the main entrance hall. Indeed, no expenses had been spared by the Calabas family to make their home as splendid as could be. Thus, Tommy Dupont began his first day of work as watcher of Morgan Calabas. Morgan Calabas turned out to be a boy, six years of age, with unkempt black hair, and two pairs of bangs coming down to either side of his forehead, and a face unmarked by acne or any other blemishes. However, his healthy face was marred by an irksome and almost detestable childishly rebellious scowl. It was clear to Tommy that here was a boy who had never faced any meaningful challenges or struggles of any sort, and thus had an inflated sense of self-importance.

 _"Oh well."_ thought Dupont. _"If I'm going to watch him, what do I care about how he acts? It's not as if I'll be having_ _any_ meaningful _interaction with the boy."_ After he was introduced, he was shown the kitchens, so as to be able to provide for young Morgan should he need food. Tommy was passable in nearly every way regarding household duties and could have been an excellent father if he was of the marrying age, however his impatient demeanor and his business as well as political ambitions kept him from taking up that life style.

Rather than reflect upon these thoughts, Tommy acquainted himself with the various household staff; the cooks, gardeners, housemaids and butlers, so as to easily coordinate any actions for outings, aid to the young heir in his studies, or other events and problems that might arise. But soon, the other servants returned to their own duties, and Tommy was left with Morgan, who increasingly looked like he would rather do anything than have Tommy watch him. So Tommy found himself in the sitting room of the mansion of a family he was an indentured servant to, with a child who wanted nothing to do with him. But he was nothing if not determined.

"So…" he began uncertainly. "My name is Tommy, and I guess I'm your watcher for today. For quite a few days, actually." Seeing that conversation was quickly becoming awkward, Tommy stopped talking. Well, it would seem he would have to make due by simply taking care of the lad. Checking his watch, he was allowed to keep that, he saw that it was nearly half an hour before one o'clock. Not technically lunchtime, but there's always room for a light snack. "Hey kid?" he called out to the boy.

"Hm?" Morgan grunted back, his face still somewhat petulant.

"I'm going for fix a little something before lunch, you want anything?" He was trying to make a good impression, despite the fact that he was increasingly coming to dislike the boy. To his relief, Morgan accepted Tommy's offer. "You're in luck." he said, "My ma taught me how to make a real mean sandwich." and he was off. The trip to the kitchens was a quick one, the entire thing taking less than ten minutes. Soon he was back with two sandwiches, each with lettuce, tomato and some form of meat that passed for ham. When he got back to the small chamber serving as a family room, he saw that Morgan's demeanor had calmed down to simply neutral rather than active disdain.

"Well it looks like we're finally getting used to each other. That's a start at least." Tommy said in a good natured way. Setting down the plate of food on the small table, he gestured for Morgan to sit with him. However, he thought he saw the ghost of a smile on Morgan's face and his shoulders slightly shaking. Tommy felt a slight trepidation at that sight, but thought little off it, maybe the boy just remembered something humorous. Kids do that, he did it at Morgan's age after all. Poor impulse control and all that.

Tommy sat down in his chair, an average wooden construct with four legs to support the weight of anyone who sat in it. However, Morgan had taken one of the legs out so as to make sure the chair would collapse the moment anyone sat in it. Of course, Tommy only found this out when he sat in it. "Oh Shi-!" he screamed as he fell back, tumbling out of his seat. He heard Morgan laughing at him and saying, "Well boy howdy, looks like you were too much for that chair, big guy!" and he thought: _"Oh my sweet ma in heaven. I've just been had."_ his Boston accent being even more pronounced in his next words. "Morgan…" he began. "I'm gonna GET YOU!" For the first of many times, neighbors jumped at the Bay Stater's screaming rant, as he gave chase to Morgan Calabas, intent upon murder.

Morgan fled the room laughing with Tommy in hot pursuit. He chased after the younger boy screaming : "Get back here you little southern fried hooligan! The second I get my hands around you I'm gonna wring your neck!" The chase went all over the house, even into the master bedroom. Finally Tommy cornered him and was about to lay a smacker or two on the brat's nose, but one of the butlers entered and said in an upper class voice: "Pardon me Mr. Dupont. I understand you and the young man have gotten off to an unpleasant start and you are understandably angry with him for his less than agreeable conduct but-" he was cut of by an angry Tommy Dupont.

"Then what's stopping me from knocking this kid into next century or at least giving him a good spanking?!" Tommy asked angrily. He was fed up and rightly so.

"Two things; your debt and Mrs. Calabas. She dotes on the boy and she would not take kindly to any violence against the him. And she has considerable sway with Mr. Calabas. So there you are young man." then the butler turned about and left. Tommy was shocked into remembering his agreement. " _Right. No harm can come to this brat, otherwise I'm back in the slammer."_ Tommy thought. That idea by itself was enough to cool his temper, and he prepared to drain the bitter cup and make peace. But when he turned around, Morgan was gone from the room. He'd fled while Tommy was arguing with the butler. Tommy groaned and walked out of the room and back into the hall. Suddenly, he remembered to check the time, it was one thirty, and that probably was lunch time.

"Morgan! It's one thirty and you haven't eaten! So let's quit this Ring around the Rosie, and eat. Can ya work with me on that at least?!" Morgan, surprisingly, did come out of his hiding place, for he was quite hungry and tired from all the running, due to not having exercised much. Now, finally, the sandwiches that Tommy made were finally eaten. They were slightly stale from sitting out for an hour, but they were acceptable. Morgan and Tommy's tempers had simmered down from murderous to simply annoyed. But whatever their feelings were toward each other, Tommy was finding refuge with the knowledge that the next day probably wouldn't be so terrible as this. But he could only hope.

The two continued to observe each other in silence until one of the younger boy's tutors walked in and brought the boy away to attend to his studies. The reason being that a test was coming up in the next two days and the boy's parents wanted him prepared for whatever likelihoods there were, even though Tommy had the distinct feeling that Morgan would pass even if he got every question completely wrong and that Mr. and Mrs. Calabas didn't know about the last minute studying. After he left the boy, he was introduced to the various guards, cooks and other household staff. However, the most important thing in Tommy's mind, was to find the place he would be living in.

The apartment he was given by the family was a small one bedroom affair on Sarengo Avenue, south of Bennet Park at the edge of New Gettysburg. The kind of place Tommy lived was for those few that were able to escape the choking miasmic abyss of The Gutter, but couldn't afford any other place. But it was more than enough for Tommy, for it included all the basic necessities, a refrigerator, double bed and it had heating for the winter season. And it was his for however long he worked for the family. There was just one catch, Tommy had to provide food and drink for himself, for he was considered a working man now. And that suited him perfectly fine.

By the time he arrived at his apartment, it was just after seven thirty. Tommy had received a month's advance from Mr. Calabas when he arrived home, but had to get lunch for himself. Then he was sent to a department store to purchase new clothes, he would not be able to wear the ones on his back forever. Finally, after buying two pairs of cheap shirts, three pairs of undershorts and a pair of trousers, Tommy had to find his own supper. Due to obvious budget constraints, Tommy was forced to go to one of the seedier joints in the neighborhood, but he managed to survive the rather unhealthy looking food. Though it was rather filling he had to say.

 _"Now,"_ thought Tommy as he laid down on his bed, _"how am I going to find a stable job besides this babysitting gig? Or maybe I could make it a career?"_ he thought as he contemplated the pitch black night sky outside his room. But he would have that to think about tomorrow. What he thought about at that moment was his mother and father. And he remembered that phrase his father told him when his father made it out of the Army. "'The first day is always the toughest.' I thought you were full of hot air. Well I believe ya now Pop." Tommy muttered as he looked out at the largest of Tarsonis' four moons, Ender. And for the first time in a long time, Tommy Dupont shed tears. "Ma... Pa..." he whispered.

Would he be strong enough to survive in this world fraught with dangers? He could see that the entire Confederacy was corrupt as could be, but could he make a difference? Then again, why did he care? He just wanted to get out of servitude and go home. But he had no home. And the harsh reality came crashing down upon him. There was no home in old Boston for Tommy to go back to. This was the truth that Tommy had dared not face. He was alone in an uncaring world at the edge of the galaxy. For some reason, the feeling of poverty in the city around him made Tommy hum the old Elvis Presley song, "In the Ghetto". And as he hummed the mournful lyrics, the tears began to flow freely down his face.

The one thought in Tommy's mind during his first night truly alone on Tarsonis was, _"I want to go home."_ as he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

 **Disclaimer: StarCraft and all characters are property of Blizzard entertainment. Tommy James Dupont is property of me.**

 **Author's note: So this is chapter 2! Bet you didn't think I'd be back did you? I've tried to make Tommy and everyone as human as possible, and tried for the best work I can do. Suggestions are welcome. I can take on criticism too, so long as it's constructive.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **A Boston Rockabilly Singer**

Tommy woke to the sound of car horns and grumbling city folk. Looking at the digital timekeeper, he saw that the clocks had just struck seven. He gave vent to a tired groan and rolled out of his bed. It had been two days since he had begun working for the Calabas family, and it had not gotten any easier to work with Morgan, who was quickly getting more and more unruly. Thankfully, there was still a five day week on Tarsonis, so he still had two days off. And today was Saturday, so he had some time to himself. Dressing himself in a button-down shirt and trousers, he walked down the steps of his apartment and into the street.

Just as he viewed it three days ago, Tommy was no less amazed at the sight of Tarsonis City. Air-cars racing through the sky to whatever destination their operator determined, and pedestrians hurriedly walking to meet their deadlines with friends and family. The entire place affected the appearance of New York but with a southern drawl. _"Crazy."_ thought Tommy, _"I thought southerners were known for their hospitality."_ But no matter the problem, Tommy felt he could find a solution. Currently, as a growl from his stomach reminded him, his problem was finding breakfast. Traveling down Argo street some distance, he discovered a hole in the wall breakfast restaurant with a small half illegible sign on the door proclaiming it, _"Jimmy's"._

The food was acceptable to Tommy's taste buds, and he did not feel the urge to throw up after he ate, so there was probably no malfeasance within the meal. He was in one of the poorer sections of New Gettysburg after all. After he ate, Tommy traveled around the city and finally found his way back to Bennet Park and sat down to observe his surroundings. Tarsonis' population was a hopeless tangle of people of every dialect of English from all over the sector. There were various groups of coming to do business with the shipping magnates or industrial barons. And for other, less describable things. Groups of greasy, expensively dressed Tyradorians and rugged Braxisians swaggered from tower to tower, while balding, evil looking vagrants huddled around dark, almost nocturnal alleyways swapping moonshine and cheap cigarettes.

The city was, if Tommy could trust his dictionary, an "ecumenopolis" a world spanning city. The central district, New Gettysburg, certainly was a wealthy borough, with it's well manicured parks, office complexes and palatial estates of business executives and of the Old Families. But further south was the area dubbed "The Gutter" by it's residents, a maze of vicious squalor south of the old Star-port opposite Governor's Peak, with dirty highways descending the slight hill to the lower ground where decayed lengths of Spring and Smith streets lead off toward the Southwest Police District Headquarters. The police in that district were riddled with corruption, indeed many of it's officers were often part time enforcers for the various drug lords and political bosses.

The houses were mostly of Neosteel, dating from the first quarter to the middle of the twenty-fourth century, and some of the obscurer alleys and byways had an alluring flavor for Tommy which the conventional reading of his time might lead one to call "Dickensian". It was a babel of sound and filth, and he could hear it sending out strange cries to answer the beating of tires and boots in it's grimy warehouses and the monstrous organ litanies of the port sirens and alarms. Here long ago a brighter picture dwelt, with clear-eyed mariners on the lower streets and homes of taste and substance where the larger houses line the flatland. One could trace the relics of this former happiness in the trim shapes of the buildings, the occasional small churches, and the evidence of original art and background in bits of detail here and there—a worn flight of steps, a battered doorway, a wormy pair of decorative columns or pilasters, or a fragment of once green space with bent and rusted iron railings. The houses were generally in solid blocks, and now and then a many-windowed cupola arises to tell of days when the households of captains and ship-owners watched the outlying forests that were once prevalent in the northern hemisphere.

Hordes of prowlers reeled shouting and singing along the lanes and thoroughfares, occasional furtive hands suddenly extinguishing lights and pulling down curtains, and swarthy, sin-pitted faces would disappear from windows on the rare occasion that visitors pick their way through. Those policemen that are not already wrapped up in the system of bribery and corruption despaired of order or reform, and sought rather to erect barriers protecting the rest of the city from the contagion. The clang of the patrol would be answered by a kind of spectral silence, and such prisoners as were taken would never be communicative. Visible offenses were as varied as the local slangs, and ran the gamut from the smuggling of rum and prohibited aliens through diverse stages of lawlessness and obscure vice to murder and mutilation in their most abhorrent guises. That those visible affairs were not more frequent was not to the neighborhood's credit, unless the power of concealment is an art for which credit is due. More people entered The Gutter than left it—or at least, as Tommy later learned, left it by the landward side—and those who weren't talkative were the most likely to leave.

Further to the north-west was Hacker's Flat; once a farm district before being integrated into Tarsonis City proper, now it was a working class slum, though not as poor as The Gutter. Most of it's residents worked at the Terra hover-bike plant in the Palombo Valley, though the company was reputedly starting to fall on hard times, as Tommy heard from the patrons of _"Jimmy's"_. By the time Tommy arrived in the city, the street level space was taken up by family-owned bodegas, selling goods that were likely stolen. The sidewalks were cracked, the side passageways reeked of human excrement, and every visible surface was covered with crude graffiti which even laymen would find offensive to every standard of aesthetics. There was one other district, dubbed "The Heights" but it was simply a middle class burg with almost no real defining features.

The entire city had an air of alertness which only the midday heat could bring out, and Tommy gave particular attention to the relatively cheaper dive bars and clubs around the city, the largest of which was the "Trank Club", which had small crowds coming in and going out, some of which had instrument cases of various sizes. _"If I was lookin' for a side job, that'd be a great one."_ he thought half-heartedly. Then he looked up again. _"I was trained in music... I loved it and I was dang good at it. But if the accents around here are any indication, the only thing playing will be country."_ he grimaced, country was his least favorite brand of music. But if he wanted to survive, he'd have to suffer some indignities to get to a healthy life.

Thinking on this, Tommy walked into the club, not excessively pleased with the prospect of having to sing what he as redneck music. The interior was largely simple, a dance floor with tables and a bar to the northern side with a stage one meter above the floor of the club. Near the back of the stage, several young toughs with slicked back hair were carrying guitars and other musical instruments. The manager stood with the amateur musicians, haggling over how much their payments for the various gigs, or if their gigs should even be shown in the first place. The manager was a stocky man in a poor quality suit, smoking a cigarette.

"'Scuse me sir?" Tommy called as he fought his way across the room to the manager. The man looked at him the way one might look at an insect one wishes to step on and get rid of as soon as possible.

"What do you want boy?" he growled. Tommy was increasingly thinking that his idea of trying for a gig had been a mistake. But the time had come. Tommy conquered his qualms and said to the manager: "Well sir, I was thinking that I'd apply for a gig tonight. And I was wondering if you happen to have any spots open for tonight or tomorrow night." Tommy managed to get out before the manager stopped him with a glare.

"We have one spot open. But how do I know you aren't just some brat with a big head?" Tommy was feeling increasingly nervous, was this whole idea a mistake?

But he was a Dupont, and every Dupont worth their salt would persevere and give their all. "There ain't much that'd persuade you. I can't just start singin' but I could come by for auditions, if there are any that is." The manager looked at him and said one thing: "You're lucky boy. Be here at seven." Tommy knew in his heart what that meant. He was on for the night. He was about to thank the manager but the man said, "Don't thank me yet boy. You ain't gettin' payed until I see the crowd likes you. We're short on cash as it is." Tommy thanked him anyway and rushed out of the club and back to his apartment.

Slowly, the minutes trickled into hours as his deadline approached. As the seventh _post meridiem_ drew nearer, he arranged his affairs for the night. First he picked out the best of his, admittedly cheap shirts, and made sure his appearance would stand out enough so as to make sure that he would be received fairly by the audience. Then he fashioned a simple outfit from his jacket and trousers. Finally, he had to find a suitable song. Rushing over to one of the few libraries in his area, he looked through the music section on one of the computers, and looked for something that would be somewhat acceptable.

As he ran an eye over the various songs, he almost missed the small entry titled: "Chantilly Lace- Unknown Composer". This was something he could work with. In fact, it was the one country style song he liked very much, the other being the theme music of Rawhide. He printed a copy of the sheet music for the song, and seeing that it was 6:30, he ran off for the audition. It was a narrow thing indeed, having only two minutes to spare after he arrived, panting, at the Trank Club.

The manager was certainly no more impressed with him when he arrived then when Tommy first met him. Indeed, Tommy's clothes had grown slightly damp with sweat from his run from the library to the club. "You better have a good act boy." he said. "I don't normally give people these spots without much proof, but you seem ernest enough, so I'm willing to give you a shot. Don't make me regret it."

Tommy put on his most confident smile and replied, "Trust me sir, you won't." And he walked up to the stage, handing the music to the conductor of the small orchestra before gripping the microphone. But the manager stopped him before he could start: "I'll only need one verse kid. If I think you're good enough, then you can sing. If not, you're done."

 ** _Hello ba~by!  
_** ** _yeah, this is the Big Bopper speaking._**

He gave a laugh.

 ** _Oh you sweet thing!_**

As an extra touch, when the next lines came, he first adopted a shocked expression and then a sly one.

 ** _Do I what?  
_** ** _Will I what?!  
_** ** _Oh baby you know what I like_**

 ** _Chantilly lace and a pretty face_**  
 ** _And a pony tail hanging down_**  
 ** _That wiggle in the walk and giggle in the talk_**  
 ** _Makes the world go round~_**

Here he drew his arms up in a circular gesture.

 ** _There ain't nothing in the world like a big eyed girl_**  
 ** _That makes me act so funny, make me spend my money_**  
 ** _Make me feel real loose like a long necked goose_**  
 ** _Like a girl, oh baby that's what I like_**

Having finished the verse, Tommy looked expectantly at the manager, who's face was actually breaking out of it's accustomed grouchiness and taking on a genuinely contemplative expression. Then the manager said to Tommy, "What's your name boy?"

Tommy answered back eagerly, "My name's Tommy James Dupont sir."

"Well then Tommy," the manager began, "I thought you would be just another young punk thinking he was hot stuff and could just get anything he wanted. But you've got a good enough voice on you, I'm willing to give you the spot. But make sure you do well when you get up there for the real action. I don't need you getting stage fright." Finally he gave Tommy a small smile. "Son, I take care of my own. You'll be treated right with me." Tommy thanked the manager twice and headed down to another diner to pick up a light snack, he had not eaten lunch.

Then, after he had eaten, Tommy returned to the Trank and entered the back stage area. Cymbals crashed and music of every variety blasted from horns and drums. From disco to jazz, every flavor was present. And this is where Tommy Dupont was preparing to make his entrance into the life of Tarsonis. He was making ready for his performance, when he thought of one last detail. Hurrying to find the stage manager, who was a willowy bird of about the type and tonnage of Lionel Johnson. "Do you think you have any old phones lying around?" he asked.

"Why the hell would you need one?" came the bewildered reply. After all, one doesn't usually just ask out for a phone (or as Confederates called it, a fone) out of the blue. Again, Tommy would roll his eyes at the way some things were done in the Confederacy.

"I'm gonna need one for this performance coming up! Can you help me out here?!" Tommy shouted over the din of the singers and actors jostling for positions in front of mirrors and beauty stands. The stage manager relented and offered up one from an old prop box. Everything was in order, and soon the last act before Tommy's was in the final minute. Tommy felt the familiar shaking of pre-performance jitters. _"Just like Starship Troopers."_ Tommy thought as the seconds ticked away. _"It doesn't matter how many times I do this, I'm scared silly every time."_

Then he heard the last singer exit, and the announcer's voice filtered in through the wings. "Alright you've been a great audience. Now calm down, here's our last man of the night, but he's itching to strut his stuff. He just got into Tarsonis, here he is ladies and gentlemen, he's the teenage fireball, please welcome Tommy Dupont singing Chantilly Lace!"

 _"That's my cue."_ Tommy thought and entered stage right. There was some cheering, however the reception was rather lukewarm. Clearly the audience thought he would be something to wind down the evening and be something not at all impressive. _"Well let's see how they feel when I'm done."_ he thought. He walked gradually, deliberately, up to the microphone. Tommy adjusted the height to suit him and said to the audience, "Evening all. I've already been introduced, so I won't need to tell you who I am, but I do need to tell you just what I like." A bell jingled, Tommy pulled the phone out of his pocket, and it began.

 ** _Hello ba~by, yeah, this is the Big Bopper speaking_**  
 ** _Oh you sweet thing_**  
 ** _Do I what_**  
 ** _Will I what_**  
 ** _Oh baby you know what I like_**

 ** _Chantilly lace and a pretty face_**  
 ** _And a pony tail hanging down_**  
 ** _That wiggle in the walk and giggle in the talk_**  
 ** _Makes the world go round_**

 ** _There ain't nothing in the world like a big eyed girl_**  
 ** _That makes me act so funny, make me spend my money_**  
 ** _Make me feel real loose like a long necked goose_**  
 ** _Like a girl, oh baby that's what I like_**

Tommy's routine of having a fake conversation on the phone drew some laughs, but reaching the third stanza, some of the older men smirked knowingly. A young man is indeed vulnerable to feminine wiles.

 ** _What's that baby_**  
 ** _But, but, but, oh honey_**  
 ** _But, oh baby you know what I like_**

 ** _Chantilly lace and a pretty face_**  
 ** _And a pony tail hanging down_**  
 ** _That wiggle in the walk and giggle in the talk_**  
 ** _Makes the world go round_**

 ** _There ain't nothing in the world like a big eyed girl_**  
 ** _That makes me act so funny, make me spend my money_**  
 ** _Make me feel real loose like a long necked goose_**  
 ** _Like a girl, oh baby that's what I like_**

The rather long-suffering tone in his voice had the men grinning, and by now everyone in the audience was clapping along. Tommy began to feel the familiar exhilaration inherent to a good performance.

 ** _What's that honey_**  
 ** _Pick you up at 8 and don't be late_**  
 ** _But baby I ain't got no money honey_**  
 ** _Oh alright baby you know what I like_**

 ** _Chantilly lace and a pretty face_**  
 ** _And a pony tail hanging down_**  
 ** _That wiggle in the walk and giggle in the talk_**  
 ** _Makes the world go round_**

 ** _There ain't nothing in the world like a big eyed girl_**  
 ** _That makes me act so funny, make me spend my money_**  
 ** _Make me feel real loose like a long necked goose_**  
 ** _Like a girl, oh baby that's what I like!_**

The entire crowd was clapping and tapping their feet by the finish, and when the final line came out, the people were wild for rock and roll again. _"I feel just like the Big Bopper!"_ Tommy thought as he bowed and walked back offstage. The rest of the evening was a blur to the youth as he felt hands slapping his back and congratulations being passed around, but he did remember the manager's slight smile as he pressed a small wad of credits into Tommy's hand saying: "Not bad for your first time Tommy. You keep this up and I might just have to give you a raise if you rake in as many people."

As Tommy learned later, the club operated on the money it's patrons gave, both in tips and actual payments for food and drink. Normally, this wasn't too much, but Tommy had brought in a great deal of revenues for beer and other such things, because of the upbeat nature of his song. After he left the Trank, he counted the money he had been given. The amount was in the area of 150 credits, a large enough amount, all things considered. Especially in view of the economic conditions for the middling and lower classes of Tarsonis and the Confederacy at large.

Returning home, wallet full of money, Tommy had a frugal meal at _Jimmy's_ yet again. For he was learning to be quite conservative, due to his constrained financial budget. But as he unlocked his apartment, he felt quite exhausted from the day's events. The cycle was as of a whirlwind, work and every variety of play. _"It's too bad I'm underage,"_ Tommy considered, _"I could use a beer to celebrate."_ But no matter Tommy's age, life seemed to have taken on a degree of normalcy for him. Life was... acceptable for Tommy Dupont. Even though he still had not gotten over the loss of his parents, he felt that the universe had at least some degree of kindness.

"This may not be so bad after all."Tommy said to himself as he looked at the Tarsonis skyline, with it's twinkling stars, glowing moons and the ocean of lights in the city below.

* * *

 _ **And here's chapter 3! I'll try to get more chapters out more quickly, but school's back in season. Anyway, chapter 4 will have some real laughs for you all!**_


End file.
